


Ache

by Nary



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Andusk, Angst, F/M, Ghosts, Impregnation, Jealousy, Substitution, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-03
Updated: 2010-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They couple surreptitiously, bodies hidden under rough wool blankets and, of course, in the darkness. Alma can see them perfectly well in the dark, of course, though the blankets do obscure her view somewhat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ache

They couple surreptitiously, bodies hidden under rough wool blankets and, of course, in the darkness. Alma can see them perfectly well in the dark, of course, though the blankets do obscure her view somewhat. She finds it somehow puzzling that they bother to try and hide it from her at all, as if she might be… what? Offended? Jealous? She has no such feelings, only a mild curiosity about their stifled noises and the anxious haste with which they undertake the act.

She vaguely remembers having felt that strange body-ache for release, though she had never savoured it with another person, or even done more than touch herself lightly between the legs to try and find what she needed. She had never quite figured it out, though, had achieved nothing more than sticky fingers and frustration. All those feelings had died with her.

When she died, Danyel and Marielle had been not so much older than she was. Her sixteen-year-old self's conception of eternity had been as something impossibly distant, but now she can feel it pressing all around her, taste its bitterness. They are aging, while she stays forever the same. One day, both of them will be dead. She can see faint lines around Marielle's eyes that weren't there a few years before. Those lines show more clearly when she has her eyes squeezed shut, as she does now, and the fingers she digs into Danyel's shoulders looked like knuckle and tendon, nothing more.

She had come to him, sneaking mouse-like into his sleeping chamber, laying a finger to his lips when he began to say something. Alma wonders if this is the first time they've done this. By the ease with which they come together, it doesn't seem like it could be, but then how could she have failed to notice such activities going on under her very nose? She feels a twinge of some feeling she can't quite name. Betrayal, perhaps, or envy, though those would seem to imply that she wishes it was her straddling Danyel's hips, her mouth stifling cries against the hollow of his neck. But unless she were to take over Marielle's body, that would be impossible. Perhaps the feeling is instead disappointment, that they feel the need to hide this from her even though they must know they cannot possibly do so. It is her own failing, then, not theirs.

Danyel's breath is coming in gasps, as if he's drowning. Alma puts one hand to her chest and tries to remember what it felt like to breathe. It seems like it must be so much work, to draw in air and expel it again, over and over and over again. Her keen eyes can see the quick flutter of his pulse at his throat, that constant rhythm of the flesh that she has almost forgotten. She imagines touching that pulsing spot, to feel the beat of blood beneath her fingers once more, even goes so far as to stretch out her hand toward him, but stops herself in time.

His handsome face contorts, as though with some great effort, and he lets out a cry that could have been the start of a name, or a wordless exclamation. Marielle just squeaks, like the little mouse she is, and pushes herself down on him, hard, one last time. The blanket has fallen down around their hips and Alma can see the gooseflesh on her, the hard little nipples sticking out like nail-heads. Danyel draws her close and, with surprising gentleness, kisses each tightly-puckered bud, but not her lips. "I have to go," Marielle whispers, and pulls away, tugging her shift back over her head as she stands. Before Danyel tugs the blanket back up, Alma catches a glimpse of his manhood, glistening wet and soft against his thigh.

Marielle leaves without a backward glance. "I love you," Danyel whispers to the empty room, or perhaps to Alma, if he knows or guesses she's there. Unexpectedly, Alma feels an odd prickling sensation about her eyes. She remembers that it was once associated with tears.

Rather than wonder what this means, she glides to Marielle's chamber and finds her lying on her back, eyes shut and hands folded across her stomach. "Please," she murmurs, a simple prayer, yet one freighted with meaning, "please," and suddenly Alma understands, or thinks she does. She imagines the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and eternity no longer seems quite so empty.


End file.
